


Mother Teresa in Skinny Jeans

by wolfqueen1015



Category: The 100, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Basically always Bellarke, Bellarke, Drabble, Gen, I am tag-deficient, I think it's a oneshot, Modern AU, Not explicitly stated but High School AU, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6566302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfqueen1015/pseuds/wolfqueen1015
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble. I realize technically drabbles are like 100 words but I am not even capable of that. Under 500 is still a drabble to me so :D Modern AU. Bellamy and Clarke are best friends and whenever things are shitty at home for Bell and Octavia, they hide out at Clarke’s. So this is just a little piece which may or may not be followed up by other random drabbles at a later time that connect with this same reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother Teresa in Skinny Jeans

“Bellamy, there some reason you’re under my bed?”

        He opened his eyes to find Clarke leaning over the edge of her mattress, her blonde hair falling in a sheet around her; she was staring at him with confusion.

        “This is a bit odd, isn’t it?”

        “A bit,” she laughed. “Want to get on the bed? Blood’s kind of rushing to my brain here.”

        He grins and rolls out across the floor. Dusting himself off (not that he’s really dusty seeing as Abby Griffin has maids to prevent that sort of thing), he lays down beside her.

        “Better, princess?”

        She rolls her eyes at the familiar nickname but she’s smiling too. “So, why under my bed, Bell?”

        He sighs. “Hiding. From my mom.”

        Clarke snorts. “How is my room not the first place she’d look for you?”

        “Hence under the bed,” he says simply. Bellamy turned his head on her pillow to look at her. Clarke’s blue eyes were dancing with amusement.

        “So why are you hiding from her?”

        “New boyfriend. Again. As shitty as the last.”

        Clarke frowned. “Did you tell O to come here and not your house after school?”

        He nodded. Whenever there were problems at home, Bellamy and Octavia waited it out with Clarke. “Will your mother mind? Since it’s a school night?”

        “She’s off on the campaign trail, she won’t be back til the middle of next week. And even if she was going to be home, she’s got so much to fight me on, she’s given up trying to get me to dump you and O for some snotty rich kid friends. At least you two haven’t been arrested. You should have seen my mother’s face when she found out I bailed Jasper and Monty out after they were picked up for possession. Half a sandwich baggy of pot does not a drug dealer make.”

        “How is she managing to spin our troop of delinquents to the public?”

        Clarke laughed, “By painting me as a modern Mother Teresa in skinny jeans, ministering to the poor, the downtrodden, and the practically-criminal local youth. I’m a fucking saint, haven’t you heard?”

        Bellamy was in stitches at that point. “Well, all hail the Delinquent Queen, mother of our band of lawbreakers, patron saint of teenage stoners.”

        Clarke glared without any real heat and said, “That would make you Delinquent King, father of our rowdy band of reprobates.”

        “Well, I’m not complaining. It’s good to be King.”


End file.
